


Have Some Goddamn Smut

by DanielVanDerLinde



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Explicit Language, Hand Jobs, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanielVanDerLinde/pseuds/DanielVanDerLinde
Summary: Dutch's voice was heady velvet as he spoke. “I suppose you would have found out eventually.”“What you mean?”“Since we’ve set up camp here, I’ve been coming to this spot and…well you saw.” He paused and raked a hand through his curly hair. “Been thinking of you, son,” Dutch sighed, “a lot lately.”
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 20
Kudos: 61





	Have Some Goddamn Smut

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, this is Vandermorgan trash!

Late one evening, Arthur was walking towards the wooded area just outside of camp. He was tired and irritated from a long day of fruitless hunting spent with John. 

  
Sometimes, he wished John would have never returned to the gang. Hell, John left behind Abigail and little Jack for a year! 

  
A goddamned year!

  
In his absence, Arthur had stepped up, supported Abigail, and protected Jack. And, Dutch just welcomed him back with open arms. Arthur had voiced his irritation, but had been shut down by Dutch and scolded by Hosea. Surely, Arthur should be grateful for his brother's return. John was the golden boy after all--Dutch's favorite. If it was not enough already, Dutch had insisted that the gang through a party for celebrating John's return.

  
That only fueled Arthur further in his anger.

  
To top it all off, John had not even thanked Arthur. The greasy idiot would not even acknowledge the fact that he had abandoned his family.

  
“Be a goddamn man, Marston!” Arthur had yelled at him after John had rebuffed Abigail’s insistence that Jack was his son for the third time that day. “Stop being two people at once. He’s your son!”

  
“He ain’t mine,” John replied lazily as he smoked a cigarette. “Little bastard looks more or less like he could be anyone's here…maybe an Escuella? A Williamson? Maybe even a Morgan!”

  
“You need to get your head right!”

  
At the memory, Arthur sighed, pissed, exhausted but unwilling to sleep. His mind raced more often than not.

  
It had been rough lately. In addition to John's recent return, the camp was running low on food and money. Tensions were high and no jobs to be had.

Recently though, Arthur's nights had been filled with vivid dreams of Dutch stroking Arthur's hard body with his hands—his goddamn killer hands—caressing the light trail of hair that started at Arthur’s chest, the coolness of the gold rings on his abs making his skin prickle, and then lower and lower yet to his…

  
“Goddamn,” Arthur whispered to himself. The fantasy was almost too much. He had always lusted after Dutch, but it had gotten worse lately. 

  
Each time Dutch praised him with a “you did good son,” “I’m proud of you,” or a “that's my boy…” 

  
When Dutch would touch his shoulder, his hand, his arm, his back…

  
Arthur often found his cheeks tinged with cherry when in the company of the handsome and charismatic gang leader. Oh, and whenever Dutch was worked up about something and his voice cracked, that moved something deep within Arthur.

  
As always, thinking about Dutch was having an immediate effect on him as his pants suddenly felt extremely tight. He unbuttoned them and began to lightly palm his cock, and was just starting to enjoy it when John came suddenly into view.

Thinking fast, Arthur moved quickly behind a tree. He really hated John in that moment. He could not even jerk off without the moron interrupting him.

  
From the safety of his hiding spot, he watched as John stumbled and pissed. The idiot was drunk. 

  
As John went on his way, Arthur paused to look around in the dark. The last thing he needed was someone else to discover him. He strained his eyes and realized that he was not alone.

  
Dutch.

  
And he was near.

  
Arthur was about to speak, but quickly realized that Dutch was none the wiser to his presence. He knew he should turn away, but he could not tear his eyes from the delicious scene in front of him.

  
Dutch was sprawled out, half naked near Arthur's feet. The usually poised man, was now sitting on the grassy ground, pants open, shirt and vest undone, groaning and panting as though he was fucking up into Molly.

  
Of course, Arthur's tent was right next to theirs. Arthur would listen most nights to the slapping of skin and moans, wishing it was him in the tent, and rubbing his cock vigorously at the thought of Dutch fucking him.

  
Arthur blushed fiercely and waited for Dutch to finish. He watched as the older outlaw bit his lip and tipped his head back in ecstasy, exposing his tantalizingly stubble covered throat. Arthur wanted so badly to burry his face there, to lick, kiss, and bite. 

  
At the very least he wanted to smell and taste him.

  
Those thoughts were dangerous; better left for fantasies and dreams. Arthur knew that, but found himself stroking his own cock and fixating on the display in front of him. Dutch kept his head back and eyes screwed shut as he aggressively jerked his big dick. Finally Dutch's back arched and he climaxed loudly.

  
“Arthur,” the dark haired man cried out as white ropes painted the dirt and grass.

  
Arthur tried his hardest to stifle the sudden tickle burning in his throat, but he could not. 

  
He coughed.

  
“What are you doing here?” Dutch accused. He stood up quickly, righting his clothing. The only evidence that anything improper had just happened was the slight shade of pink lingering on his cheecks.

  
“Had to piss.” Arthur replied with an unconvincing smile. He tucked his still hard cock back in his pants and stepped out from behind the tree. 

  
Dutch's voice was heady velvet as he spoke. “I suppose you would have found out eventually.” He re-buttoned his shirt and vest.

  
“What you mean?” Arthur could not help the boldness he felt in that moment. He was still shocked, but he would be a fool to not pursue this.

  
“Since we’ve set up camp here, I’ve been coming to this spot and…well you saw.” He paused and raked a hand through his curly hair. “Been thinking of you, son,” Dutch sighed, “a lot lately.” 

  
Arthur winced at the term of endearment. It seemed strange Dutch would call him that after he had just saw him. Arthur's cock throbbed against his leg.

  
He regarded Dutch as best he could in the dark. He could not make out much, but if his body language was anything to go by, Dutch did not seem too upset over the whole thing. Arthur would have thought he would have been infuriated. Hell, he even anticipated violence. Maybe he saw Arthur touching his own dick…?

  
Suddenly, Arthur’s confidence swelled as did other things.

  
“Touchin' your own cock is nice an' all,” Arthur said, '”Wouldn’t you rather I took care of it for ya'?” 

  
Dutch's dark eyes grew huge. “Of course, but I never thought you’d be interested.”

  
“Why not?”

  
“Well, I’ve seen the nude sketches of Abigail in your tent...”

  
“I made those for John. Figured it might help him get his shit together.”

  
“Really?” Dutch's voice was amused.

  
“Yes,” Arthur confirmed. “I’d rather spend a night with you!”

* * *

Hosea was doing some night fishing off of the lake dock when he heard a pained cry coming from the camp. Immediately, he dropped his pole, grabbed his lantern, and sprinted toward the sound. It had sounded like Dutch was in serious agony. His brain was going a million miles a minute. He hoped his best friend had not be shot again or worse!

  
After a short moment, Hosea reached the source of the cries; Dutch's tent.

  
“Wouldn’t go in there if I were you,“ Karen warned from where she laid drunk on the ground. “Dutch has finally lost it.” Hosea ignored her and shook his head.

Without a moment's hesitation, Hosea burst through the flaps of Dutch's tent and reeled backwards as his lantern illuminated two naked bodies in front of him on Dutch's cot. 

  
“My God!” Hosea nearly stumbled backwards out of the tent. “What the--"

  
Arthur was leaning over Dutch trying to pull something out of his ass. 

  
“What’s going on?” Hosea asked. Flabbergasted, he could not help but stare at the bizarre scene in front of him.

  
Arthur's blue eyes were laden with worry.

  
“We was—I were…” Arthur stumbled over his words as shame and embarrassment burned in his cheeks. “He asked me to use the gun oil on him, Hosea…and it got stuck…”

  
“I didn’t mean stick the bottle in my ass, Arthur,” Dutch complained. “Just use the oil from the bottle for lubrication! Goddamn it!” 

  
From somewhere outside the tent, Karen laughed.

  
“Said ‘m sorry,” Arthur replied. 

  
Hosea stood there speechless holding the lantern.

  
“Hold on, Dutch.” Arthur tried to pull the gun oil bottle out again to no avail. Dutch groaned and kicked him.

  
“Fuck!”

  
Hosea looked down at the struggling men. While Arthur continued to fuss with the bottle, Dutch tried his best to cover his nakedness from Hosea.

  
“What the hell is wrong with you, Dutch!?” 

  
“I know what it looks like—I know it, but now ain’t the time for--" Dutch's voice cracked as Arthur tried to remove the object again. “Fuck you!”

“Sorry, Dutch,” Arthur mumbled.

Honestly, Hosea felt just a tad jealous. Dutch had not looked at or touched him in years and had even claimed to taking a liking to women, which there had been plenty of…

But then to find Dutch like this with their son, he felt betrayed and angry. Then again, Dutch looked so ridiculous and helpless with the gun oil bottle sticking out of his ass that Hosea could not really stay mad for long. He sighed and set the lantern down on a nearby crate and rolled up his sleeves.

“Suppose I could help,” Hosea said. “It can’t stay in there forever…”

A combination of severe embarrassment and gratitude shown bright on Arthur's face as he looked up at Hosea. 

“I’ll hold him an' you pull it out.” Arthur grabbed Dutch under his arms and held him tightly.

Hosea nodded and bent down. Of all the things he had seen, he never thought he would be rescuing Dutch in this sense. He shook his head and grabbed the bottle. It was warm.

“Pull!” Arthur encouraged.

“Fuck!” Dutch cursed as the gun oil came out with a loud pop.

“Thank you!” Arthur exclaimed as he released Dutch from his grasp. “’M real sorry, Dutch!”

Dutch swatted at Arthur.

“You’re welcome,” Hosea said with a grin. “Ya, uh, mind if I keep this?” He stood and held the bottle up to the lantern light. 

“I do mind,” Dutch growled as he managed to pull a pair of pants on and stood, wincing just a little. “Give it to me.” 

  
“Ok, old friend,” Hosea teased. He tossed the bottle to Dutch, winked at Arthur, picked up the lantern, and exited the tent. Surely, he’d be thinking about this incident for months to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! If y'all like it, there will be more!


End file.
